


Do It For Her

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Blackmail, Degradation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Objectification, Other, Prostitution, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Miranda Lawson knows well what she represents to some people. It is not something she is particularly proud of, but for her sister, she will use whatever tools she has at her disposal.(Not anti-Miranda, or character bashing)
Relationships: Miranda Lawson/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Do It For Her

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to the dude who joined one of my other platforms specifically to see Miranda, and then left as soon as it became clear that I wasn't able to do Miranda right away. Hope you're happy with this, wherever you are!
> 
> Also, as I said, this is NOT an anti-Miranda story. She's not in the best situation, but the intent is not to beat her down or bash her. I quite like Miranda, in fact.
> 
> I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).

The act of epitomizing humanity did not permit much deviation. Or stretching from the shadow of the hand that created her. It was a burden that was as frustrating as it was omnipresent, and Miranda Lawson resented it.

No matter her successes, a little voice always whispered in the back of her mind. Tiny erosions, eating away at whatever pride or confidence she could find in triumph. These achievements were not hers, and all she could claim were failures and errors. Flaws, inherent to being human, and statements to her status as damaged, wasted potential. 

Some things, even money and power could not purchase, and that was perfection. Miranda Lawson knew this, and yet, she still permitted herself some pride in simply being who she was. She balanced acuity, alertness, and alacrity with power and patience, and whatever she put her mind to, she pushed the boundaries of human limit. She would not be perfect, but she would be as close to perfect as humans could be.

And yet, Miranda did not pretend that the looks she got did not irk her. Those who observed who she was, and judged, and wanted superficially. They saw big tits, and wide hips, and long legs, and a pretty face, and they presumed she was as surface-level and banal as their interest. 

But most of all, they stared at her rear. She was not afraid to acknowledge what it was: a big, fat ass, which stood out even more in the tight catsuits she kept sporting. She could not walk anywhere without feeling eyes upon her, and if she climbed stairs, or for any reason, bent over, she could almost hear their jaws dropping. And she was tired of it.

Why did she cavort about in clothing that disguised practically nothing? Sure, the Cerberus-provided material was breathable, and stronger than it seemed, but actual armor, or clothing to fit her measurements, would surely be just as easily acquired. Perhaps she secretly enjoyed the attention, but Miranda refused to entertain the thought. Not when it had irritated her so much, and demeaned her in the perceptions of too many. When that was the case, it was time for her to step up and remind them who she was.

Yes, perhaps  _ that _ was why she kept her ridiculous outfit. To remind herself how fragile her strength was, when it relied upon others, and to give her the chance to exercise her authority. It certainly had proven informative for weeding out those who might think themselves above her by virtue of appearance.

Still, it...irked her, to be seen as a sex object. Especially when the demands of her future, or that of her organization, demanded that she play into that role. She had done it before, and had fruitfully enjoyed her designer-fashioned body to the fullest when the opportunities had been present, and her psyche had demanded hormonal satisfaction. She had taken no pleasure in using her appearance as the Illusive Man required, and she took even less gratification in using it to help Oriana.

She loved her sister more than anything else in the galaxy, and would stop at nothing to help her and keep her safe. To give her everything that Miranda had lacked, for Oriana was all that Miranda could hold hope for anymore. In her, Miranda had invested all her dreams, and her wishes, and all her most treasured convictions. All so Miranda could know that she was caring  _ for _ someone with sincere certainty, and to be assured that she was adding something whole and sincerely good to the universe, no matter what.

Her sister was more important than anything, or anyone, else. More important than Miranda's own safety, or comfort, or pride. Which helped to explain why Miranda Lawson was presently bending over before a desk, naked, interlocking her fingers in front of her, and shaking her ass for someone else’s delight.

Who was this paying, again? The slicer who kept tabs on Oriana’s extranet activity? The school superintendent who had understood that Oriana was not who she seemed? The camera operator that kept tabs on her? The head of the private security firm that did extra rounds near her sister's home? The banker, or the tutor, or the accountant? One of any number of other hazardous but necessary loose ends and third parties, mostly but not exclusively humans, who all wanted the same thing from her, or similar, in lieu of credits? It hardly mattered. They wanted, and she provided. For Oriana’s sake, so her sister could have a life, and have peace.

Miranda Lawson had twirled on stripper poles for her “clients”, clad in the manner of an Asari nightclub dancer or in even less, if anything at all. She’d pretended to be their girlfriends, and wives, and acted accordingly when they wanted it, whether their demands were domestic or more banal and lurid. She’d stroked, and rubbed, and sucked and fucked and  _ been _ fucked and rutted and so much more, more than she could describe or recall or list. She’d been passed around and shared, and individually hoarded and jealously clutched. She’d been their “pets”, subject to their control and lexicon of command, and some rarer few had put themselves in a place to be her toy. She could have killed those ones most easily, and ended their demands, but they were too important to Oriana’s life, or too easily missed in the web of the world to be snuffed out. 

And perhaps a tiny, protesting part of Miranda Lawson enjoyed this. Not just the chance for domination, no. Maybe she enjoyed the understanding that she was seen not for her intellect, or biotic ability, or grasp of rhetoric, the arts, and politics. That instead of seeing her as a person, her clients—blackmailers, almost, for some at least—saw her as an object for them to enjoy. They saw her for her breasts, and her softness and suppleness. And most of all, they saw her for her butt. One way or another, they all gravitated towards it.

She was in too deep to stop, anyway. Not with some of the things she had done for them. In the depths of her degradation, when she was subjected to and participated in the truly most humiliating and shameful acts, Miranda Lawson would remember Oriana, and find strength. This was for her sister, she would recall, and cling to that, as she was subjected to, and participated in, acts that she would shudder to recollect if they did not bring so much enjoyment. They always did, and it pained her to acknowledge it. She could try to tuck them away as unpleasant memories, but they never left her, and repeating the experiences again and again simply refreshed them anew in her memories.

So Miranda Lawson swung her hips, shook her tits, and wobbled her ass for whomever had demanded this particular reward for whatever service they were providing Oriana. It hardly mattered who or what anymore. She spread her asscheeks, her suit stripped away for them to enjoy her naked body, and smacked her own ass with enough force to leave it jiggling and shuddering from the blow. She widened her stance and thrust her rear forward and back before their gaze, arching her back and moaning hoarsely, whorishly, to give them the sense that she loved how they watched her.

Miranda straightened herself and spun, chest swaying as she faced them. She could reach a hand between her legs to thrust her fingers between her slit, or more delicately pet the bare skin above. She could cup and grope her own tits, pulling them up to suck her own nipples, and drag her hands along her belly, thigh, and waist to highlight how soft and curvy she really was. She could bite her lip, croon, and beckon them closer. She could stick her tongue out and roll her eyes upward and inward and look stupidly carried away with all this.

She did none of these things. Instead, she leaned back onto the desk, balancing her weight on her shoulders, and twirled once again, until she was prone on the surface with her arms folded beneath her face, her legs pressed together so she could better shove her ass backwards and towards them. Back to the position of before, but even better accentuating her backside. Miranda was  _ good _ at this. And she knew how to present herself.

On cue, they reached forward. Their fingers sunk into the soft skin of her bum, and then deeper as they pulled and slid, groping her ass with hungry, greedy hands. They pushed and squeezed, then released her to slap one asscheek, then the next, until they were driving their palm against her rear with increasingly frequent smacks. It stung, but Miranda did not protest, only whimpered in the way that she knew they would want to hear.

The strikes slowed, then stopped, and then they went back to spreading her now-sore, reddened, still-jiggling buttocks. Something thicker and weightier than a finger prodded the tight, tense bud of her ass, and Miranda widened her stance to accommodate. She wasn’t surprised, but it would still be a snug, difficult fit. One push, then a breath in as she relaxed, then another, and then they were in with a squelch and a mewl from her lips that, for once, was not planned for show.

They drove their cock in deeper, pushing more into her rear with every passing moment, a steady intrusion that she was well and truly familiar with. Unfortunately. Or perhaps fortunately, since it made taking dicks up her butt that much easier, and there  _ was _ something to be gained from such stimulation. Maybe it was a quirk of her design—and she  _ loathed _ how she had to consider herself as such—or perhaps a consequence of the quality of her posterior, but for whatever reason, Miranda Lawson liked getting fucked in the ass. It certainly helped her go along with what most of her clients required of her. She’d taken a lot of different cocks in her rear, and would probably take a lot more, and that was more than fine with her.

Their speed was picking up, going quicker now, pulling back, then pushing forward again, rutting their hips forward into her hard enough for their balls to slap her pussy with a wet  _ smack _ . It was degrading, but Miranda knew that it was better to go along, and so she pushed back, her ass clapping against their body and leaving her shuddering, and moaned in what she knew would be perceived as slutty, needy desperation. Their hands rested on her asscheeks, grabbing, stroking, and holding to use as leverage, then spanking and slapping her soft, welcomingly jiggling rear to encourage her to thrust back to fuck herself on their cock. So she did. Their swinging nuts left her tensing with every point of contact, and a loud  _ clap _ resonated when their bodies met.

Their fucking got harder as they brutally, roughly, carelessly sawed their dick in and out of her ass, plunging as deep as they could go with all the force they could muster. And Miranda was doing more than just taking it, passively accepting their cock in her rear: she was actively participating and drawing them in, moving back to join them. It served a double purpose, both to ease them along and to recognize that, ultimately, she could at least collect an orgasm out of this, though her thoughts were less "begrudging" and more "hungry." If their pounding nuts wouldn’t do it, then the pumping into her rear hole, stretching and straining her, would do the trick.

It was all a blur, and so were they, a jackhammering of dick, hips, and forward and backwards movement that was all directed towards  _ fucking  _ her. Towards employing her asshole as a sleeve, a hole, to wrap around their cock and go wild with. she moaned, unwittingly, and squirmed and tried to suppress the heat building within her. But it was no use. Miranda Lawson came, entirely thanks to the abuse her ass was taking and that she was willingly inviting and encouraging. Her body was suffused with warmth and releasing tension, pussy lips spasming in climax as her ass followed suit, undulating and gripping. The clenching and fresh pressure of a good, tight squeeze on their dick was exactly what they needed, and they didn’t stop fucking her wildly even as they erupted, pouring their hot cum into her asshole. It painted her bowels white, plastering the inside of her bum with a thick, deep creampie, and gave her the filling reward that every good assfucking deserved. The load she always sought at the end of being banged up the backside, drilled deeply and splattered messily into her welcoming, hungry asshole.

Miranda mewled weakly as they pulled out, her greedy back hole trying to hold in their dick with desperate, needy sucking and clutching, before finally releasing their cock with a popping noise. They patted her appreciatively and degradingly and condescendingly, on the asscheek, their cum oozing from her twitching, winking rear hole and dripping to the floor. Another payment given, and another client satisfied. They’d be back for her, just like all the rest. They always returned, and demanded more, and she’d always be available. No matter how, where, or what they all wanted. They didn't care about Miranda as a person, or seek to know any of her many qualities. They just wanted to employ, enjoy, and use her as little better than a sex toy, as a hole, and as an object for their pleasure in her body and her submission. 

She did this for Oriana, true. But a growing part of Miranda Lawson adored what she did in the pursuit of keeping her sister safe, however much it frightened her to know it. Miranda was valuable, in every way, and this was just one more thing she needed to do to exercise her talents and make use of her gifts. To do anything less, or anything else, was a waste of her abilities, and she took no small comfort and pleasure in that understanding, or in the actions this required of her.


End file.
